Gotham High: Ace in the Hole
by CJ1145
Summary: There's no rest for the weary in Gotham. A new gang is gunning for WayneTech, and a still-recovering Bruce must rely on his protégés, Batgirl and Robin, to stop them. The class president, Harvey Dent, attempts to root out the corruption of the school administration and ends up in over his head. And who is the faceless stranger looking for a green man with red eyes? 4th GH story.
1. Chapter 1

It was the early morning of November 5th, 2011. The newspapers sat in stacks, ready to be delivered in the dawning hours of a Saturday in Gotham. Most were still asleep, taking advantage of the late-rising sun in the winter months. This was not the case for one van. It was nondescript, a thin layer of rust over a muted green paintjob. One headlight was smashed, the other flickering. Some poor soul drifting from one end of the town to another. No need to pay them any heed. The van wove through street after street, quietly seeking its destination.

Where it stopped was no soup kitchen, nor anything a man of such destitution would be looking for. It was a large building, several stories high and likely much deeper below the earth. Concrete and reinforced, surrounding by an electric fence; an armed man stood at the checkpoint. This was the WayneTech Armory, a place on the edge of town where the technological corporate giant kept its latest advances, for testing and for bargaining. A very short list of people could get into this building, and if their name wasn't "Wayne" then they were likely a CEO or a general of the United States military. The owner of this van certainly was not on the list.

And yet, he stepped out. _They _stepped out. A quartet, dressed uniformly in a milk-white bodysuit that covered everything but their faces. Over this, jet black armor plating shielded them. Their faces were painted; two black, two red, and on their chests they wore symbols. A heart, a club, a diamond, and a spade. Three of the four carried duffel bags over their shoulders.

_Definitely _not on the list.

They left the van behind, slowly approaching the gate. The guard didn't fail to notice them, and leveled his rifle their way. He glared behind his black faceplate, and barked "Halt! This is private property of WayneTech! Only authorized personnel are allowed in."

He paused for a moment, taking in their appearance as they stepped closer.

"…If you're looking for a rave, try the old hotel on 3rd and Raker."

"Oh no, this is the place." The one at the head replied. His voice was refined, and carried an air of gentle authority. His chest sported the red diamond. His painted face was complimented by a gray mustache and goatee, curled slightly at the tips. He pulled something from his duffel bag. "And I assure you, we _are_ authorized. If you don't believe me… check my card."

He flicked his wrist and like a bullet the a playing card shot from his hands and embedded itself an inch through the guard's chestplate. He choked in surprise as he saw the blood flowing from the wound, a slow and stinging pain spreading. That was when he saw the card proper. The King of Diamonds. And the diamonds were blinking.

_KRAKOOM_

In a gout of flame and smoke, the guard was eviscerated. What was left of him plopped to the ground, and the quartet stepped over him. The lone woman among them, taller than the others by a full head and rippling with muscle, groaned with disgust. A red heart was over her ample chestplate.

"You just _had _to blow him up, didn't ya, King? We'll have the whole place coming down on us in two minutes, tops."

"Call it a challenge." The scrawny little man with the white club on his chest said. He was hunched over, and had a hooked nose that made him look like a particularly ugly bird. He couldn't stop chortling in a nasally, mucous-filled tone as he said it. "Or _fun_, like I call it."

"That noise you're making." The heart-branded woman mentioned. "Stop it. Even if it wasn't more annoying than usual for you, we don't need to give the guards any more clues where we are."

"Then shut up, motor mouth." He retorted. He was rewarded with a smack to the back of his head, which he took with zero grace, whining and whimpering as he rubbed the affronted area.

"Both of you, quiet." The one called King told them both. They had reached the front door, and with a nod they unzipped their duffels. The King withdrew four decks of playing cards, two clipped to his belt and the others attached to his wrists. The one with the clubs symbol drew, rather unimaginatively, a pair of large steel cudgels. And the one with a heart pulled out an assault rifle, complete with a bandolier of clips to sling across her torso.

King gave a cursory glance to their fourth member, who nodded and confirmed he was ready. They stepped through the door.

It was a simple lobby, not meant to be showy. No common citizens ever saw this place, so no need to impress. Though, the array of guards strewn around the room was fairly impressive.

It was a straight shot across the lobby to the door behind a secretary's desk. That was their destination, going by the blueprints of the building. But on either side of the desk was a staircase going up to a balcony level, with several offices inside. This second floor had no less than fifteen guards, weapons leveled at them. At least ten more were on the ground floor, five behind the desk and the others standing in the open.

King snorted to himself. They'd need to do better to stop his team. He brought up both of his arms, and pressing a little trigger in his palm was all he needed to do to launch his cards at a semi-automatic rate. One-two, three-four, five-six. The cards beeped only for a second before detonation, sending the men to kingdom come. The woman to his left took aim at the opposite side of the line of guards, firing like a madwoman. She capped them, headshots blowing red streaks out the backs of their helmets. They met in the middle, the last guard being lucky enough to die by a bullet to the skull before two cards destroyed what was left of the body.

The man with the clubs had started his spree at the same time, dashing into the men on the ground floor like a demon. His body seemed to contort as he weaved around their lines of fire, what few shots got through clanking harmlessly off his armor. His clubs came in from opposite sides on the first guard, one blow smashing his right kneecap and the second bashing his face so hard his neck snapped.

He was on the next one in an instant, a flurry of blows so haphazard the eye couldn't follow them. By the time the guard hit the floor, his innards had the consistency of ground beef. One by one, the remainder went down in an increasingly brutal manner, until only those behind the desk remained.

And with a wave of the fourth member's hand, the desk crushed them against the wall. The quartet stepped further in the room, now silent after the rush of battle. The one with the clubs insignia was lightly kicking a few bodies to check for signs of life. The woman scoffed at him.

"Oh give it a rest, Jack. When was the last time we left a survivor?"

Jack mulled it over and decided the answer was, indeed, never. He shrugged and made a disturbing leer in her direction. "As you wish, my Queen."

"Hush, both of you." King ordered. "Somebody find the key."

"I call upstairs!" Jack yelled, bounding up the staircase. Queen shook her head at the insubordinate and walked to the doors behind where the desk once stood, peering in.

"This is the way to go, all right." She confirmed. "But no workers. Whoever has the keycard is likely hiding…"

"AIIIIIIIIIIIEEEE—" _THWACK THWACK SPLURCH_

"…hiding upstairs."

She walked out far enough to see the second floor above her. Jack was leaning over the railing, the entire front of his body coated in red, and playfully waving a keycard. "Found it!"

Queen found herself barely restraining her lunch from coming up. "Disgusting wretch." She hissed.

Jack tossed the keycard down to King before hopping over the railing himself. Their leader nodded at the other three and led them into the back room. The walls were periwinkle, and lined with cabinets chock-full of files. A discrete checking station, to keep records of everyone who came and went through the building. Of course, with the record-keeper no longer anything but a greasy smear on Jack's suit, there would be no record of this group.

King walked to a simple door on the opposite side of the room and swiped his card through the provided slot. The light above it blinked green, and he shoved the door open.

The others followed him into a hallway devoid of features. It seemed to be made of solid steel. The hall stretched on for hundreds of feet ahead, and branched off at several points. King stretched out a hand to his side and scrunched it, beckoning for an object. The Queen placed a tablet in his hands, as requested, and he examined the map on its screen.

"Our target is down the third hallway on the right."

The quartet moved at a leisurely pace. No need to exhaust themselves. Most of the security personnel on the grounds had been in that lobby. The alarm to the police wouldn't go off until the end of their caper. They turned down the third hall, as the map instructed, and were met by a massive vault door. Constructed of metal, and full of enough security measures to keep out anything short of a bunker buster. The King couldn't help but grin. WayneTech had underestimated them. He waved up the fourth member of the group. "Ace, come here a moment."

The Ace of Spades stepped forward. Though, he didn't look like much. A scrawny boy, barely four and a half feet tall. He couldn't have been older than ten. His skin was white as snow, and his frail, sickly features were pitiable to see. Beady black eyes, sunken in and showing signs of severe fatigue looked up at his King. His thin lips whispered, "I heard them screaming. The people. Screaming in their heads. They haven't stopped yet."

The King of Diamonds kneeled, and gingerly put a hand on Ace's shoulder. He whispered back, gently, "I know. And the screaming will stop as soon as we leave. But first, I need you to open this door for us. OK?"

Ace frowned, but he nodded. A nod coming from him was little more than a slight twitch of his skull. "All right."

The little boy looked back at the door and raised his right arm. His eyes began to glow with a sharp, violet light. His hand, and the door itself began to resonate with similar hues. And then, in a loud, screaming cacophony the door began to collapse in on itself. Chunks began to compress and compact, ripping itself away at the hinges and curling into a miniscule ball.

Not ten seconds later, the entire thing was a piece of steel the size of a marble, resting at the foot of the door. King smiled and told the boy, "Very good."

He, Queen, and Jack stepped into the vault, the former giving his orders. "Fan out and grab anything worthwhile. No duplicates. We're short on time, and the police don't take kindly to breaking and entering... or wanton murder. Chop-chop, Ten won't wait for us forever."

The vault before them was bristling with tech. Armor any military would gladly kill for, guns of no make that any civilian had seen, and strange gadgets that one could only guess the use of. And those were the tamer things within this room. King himself went straight to the back of the room, where a simple gauntlet made of banded metals was discretely hidden behind a helmet. He slipped it on, admiring its sleek shape.

He spied a target dummy on the opposite wall, and pointed his newfound accoutrement towards it. He felt something moving, churning within the gauntlet. Activated by thought, then. Its fingertips began to glow red. And then, so did the dummy. Starting at the head, and moving downwards, it began to glow red, then a bright yellow. It collapsed in on itself, melting until it was nothing but a bubbling pile of hot liquid on the floor. The King chuckled as he clenched his weapon into a fist.

"Oh-ho, yes. This day belongs to the Royal Flush Gang."


	2. Chapter 2

"Oh, man…"

Commissioner Jim Gordon's tiny sedan chugged through the streets of Gotham City. Cars honked, cabbies cursed, and pedestrians made rude gestures at the drivers cutting them off. A normal, cheery day in the city. It wasn't quite so normal for Barbara Gordon, who was sitting in the passenger's seat. It was only by mercy and a prior obligation that she'd managed to skip church on this Sunday morning. Her obligation wasn't much better, though. The salon.

She'd flipped down the mirror above her seat, and was examining her hair sullenly. The long, red locks she'd been growing since the 5th grade were gone, brutally hacked away. Only a pixie cut's worth of hair remained, and she kept poking the tips of it, gingerly, to confirm that it was truly that short. She was already regretting the loss, but it had been a requirement. She knew it. With all that hair, she could barely fit her head into the Batsuit's cowl. It wasn't like she could just cut a hole in the back to let it hang out. Not that she hadn't _tried_ suggesting that, but Bruce and Alfred vetoed it nigh-instantaneously. Not only would it be a major clue at who was under the mask, it was a pretty blatant safety hazard. She'd half-heartedly agreed.

Her father glanced over for a moment, catching her expression. "What's up, kid? I thought you wanted a haircut; you look like you just lost your best friend."

Barbara shrugged. She couldn't exactly tell her dad why she'd needed the cut. Something vague would do. "I just… thought it was a time for a change. I hadn't really processed how drastic it would be, is all. I'll get used to it."

Jim's lined face wrinkled with that tired smile he always used. "All right, hun; just try and be over it before it's back to the old length, okay?"

Barbara put a hand to her lips, covering up a giggle. "All right, dad. Are you going to work after this?"

He shook his head, and Barbara saw the most relieved expression she could imagine on his face. "Nah, not today. I've got John and Victor running the patrols, and we've just got a skeleton crew at the station. Haven't had a crisis since… well, Halloween."

The mood soured, and silence overtook them as Jim kept driving. He was gripping the wheel harder than he needed to. She'd filled in her father what he needed to know of that Halloween night. Of the friend she and Bruce had made, and the family that friend had lost. Barbara attempted a diplomatic means of getting the conversation back on track.

"…Maybe the crooks are shoring up for winter?"

That one caught her father off guard, and he lurched forward in a tremendous laugh. She swore she felt the car shake as he slapped his forehead with a hand. "Oh, god, if only that were true! Forget the scarf I asked for—criminals that hibernate? Make that my Christmas present."

He shook his head, smiling as bright as could be. Barbara smiled along with him, happy that the jovial nature had returned to their little trip. He started talking, with an unusually chipper demeanor for what he was telling her. He pretty clearly didn't take it too seriously.

"No, but, Bat or no Bat, I think we're in for the most eventful winter we've had in a long while. They say there's two Bats now, you know?"

"Really?" Barbara asked, feigning interest in this supposedly novel topic.

"Really really." Jim assured her. "Batman and Batgirl, everybody's saying. Eyewitness accounts of what they think is Batman beating up some crooks in some alley, and all of the sudden they notice it's a woman. But that's not all. We're getting calls now about some weirdo skulking around the back alleys, cracking heads and asking about people with red eyes. Supposedly dresses in a blue coat, and has no face."

"No face?"

"Not an iota of one." Jim insisted, chuckling to himself as the words escaped his lips. "You know, this city really astounds me sometimes, kid. Oh-oh, that's not even the weirdest one!" He turned to her with a childlike sort of glee as he giggled out the last one. "We're getting—ha—getting 911 calls about _aliens_ now."

"_What?" _his daughter asked in shock. Before she knew it she was laughing along with him.

"I know, I know!" he told her. "It's crazy, but I swear it's true! Little old ladies calling at 3 o'clock, yammering about giant green men in big blue capes, walking through walls and throwing thugs through semi-trucks, things like that. I don't even know where they come up with some of these."

Barbara shook her head as her sides trembled. "Man, when did Gotham become Freaksville, USA?"

Jim leaned back into his seat, adjusting the belt as he pondered that a little past its intent. His lips curled into a gentle grin. "It's always been Freaksville, kid. I think we're just starting to develop a sense of humor about it."

The car turned, and began moving up towards Wayne Manor, their destination. Barbara glanced through the rear view mirror, at the back seat. James Gordon Jr. was fast asleep, drool slipping down from the corner of his mouth. She smirked. _Little slob…_

"You're sure Bruce said it was all right for you two to stay for the night?" Jim asked. "I don't want to intrude."

"Dad, it'll be fine, honest." Barbara promised. "You can ask him when we get there, or at that gala thing you're going to."

It was a happy coincidence for Barbara, but the justification for a sleepover at Wayne Manor came from her parents. A get-together of Gotham City's biggest movers and shakers was taking place at a hotel owned by Bruce's company. Wayne himself would be hosting the event, and he'd invited the Commissioner and his wife, specifically naming him the "Commander-in-Chief of Gotham's war on crime" in a televised speech. Drinks were to be had, little weenies on toothpick to be eaten, and schmoozing to be done with influential figures galore. One could only imagine the funding her father might scrounge up if he befriended the right people. So, of course they would go.

This event was planned to go on in the early morning of the next day. Being realistic, it'd probably last even longer than that. The Gordons weren't quite comfortable leaving their children home alone, so Barbara had suggested they stay at the Manor. There wasn't any particular reason not to.

And for Barbara, there were plenty of reasons to do it. Chiefly, plenty of time for training with Dick and Alfred. Maybe even a chance to go on patrol. She didn't even bother worrying about her brother; Alfred would handle him. This was going to be great.

The Gordon's car pulled up alongside the scenic road circling up to the doorstep of Wayne Manor. To his credit, Bruce was waiting with Alfred. On the front steps, Dick was reclining and burying himself into a game of some sort.

Barbara and Jim stepped out of the car, the former dragging her little brother out with her. Bruce stepped forward and shook hands with the policeman.

"It's great to see you again, Jim." Bruce said. "Are you and the missus ready for tonight?"

"Eh, as ready as I'll ever be." Jim croaked in a dry tone, unhappy with the upcoming event. "I've never been one for social events, and hanging out with people that make my yearly salary in the span of an hour is a little unnerving."

"You'll be fine!" Bruce exclaimed, a beaming grin spanning his face. "Just watch, we'll get you more funding than you'll know what to do with."

"Heh, so you say. Thanks again for taking the kids in for the night."

Bruce put his hands up and insisted, "It's no trouble. Barbara's a good friend, and Alfred will handle James just fine."

"It's true, sir." The butler cut in, face stoic as he casually waved to his master. "If I could handle _this _one growing up, I'm certain your boy will be nothing short of an angel."

Bruce shot a venomous gaze at his butler, who didn't seem fazed in the slightest. Pennyworth bent down on one knee to reach eye level with the yawning little boy, still stretching his arms out as he awoke from a well-enjoyed nap. James caught sight of him, and the child's eyes opened as wide as saucer plates.

"Are you Mister Wayne's butler?"

"Indeed I am." Alfred told him, and took his hand as he stood. "Come along, James. Why don't I show you the _game room_?"

"Game room?!" he bewilderedly asked. "What kinda games?"

Alfred chuckled at the boy's naivety. "Well, all of them, of course."

They disappeared through the front doors, a shrill squeal of sheer delight trickling out of James Jr.'s throat. His namesake shook his head, disbelieving of the little terror as he walked out of sight. "Poor Alfred. Doesn't know what he's in for."

He looked back at Barbara and put a hand on her cheek; the poor girl started blushing immediately. "Dad, come on! Don't get all weird and mushy in front of my friends…"

Jim looked at her, dead in the eye, and said, "Actually, I was going to tell you not to break anything expensive."

A sound like a hyena came from the porch. Dick fell flat on his back, rolling around as he cackled at the top of his lungs. Even Bruce had to snort back on a laugh. Barbara's eye was twitching. Jim guffawed and rustled his daughter's freshly cut hair with his hand.

"Aw, you're too easy, kid. Take care now, and have fun."

The Commissioner shook hands with Bruce one more time before waving and walking back to the car. The latter sidled up to Barbara as the little sedan drove off into the distance. The smile on his face caused her much pain.

"You're a lot like him, you know." She told him.

"That so?"

"Yeah. You both treat me like crap."

"It's how we show affection." Bruce claimed, walking back to the porch with his guest.

"What a coincidence." Barbara said, as they passed by Dick. She gave him a swift kick to the ribs, eliciting a hacking cough from the boy and cutting off his laughter. The girl smiled a devilish smile as he glared up at her.

"It's how I show affection, too."

Dick rolled over, moaning in pain before hopping back up and following the pair back inside. He looked over Barbara's hair, lips flat as he judged. "So you got it cut, then?"

"Yeah," the redhead replied. "if I had to spend one more night with two feet of hair wedged between my hair and solid ceramic, I was gonna bust somebody's skull."

"Maybe you should've kept it." Grayson suggested. "Good motivator."

"Yeah, until I run out of skulls and come after _yours_." She threatened. Dick retorted with a snide little laugh.

"Like you could lay a hand on me."

"I dunno, man…" Barbara mused, a finger on her chin. "Like you said, it'd be a great motivator."

"Elevator, going down."

Bruce's words caught the bickering pair's attention. He'd slid a painting out of the way and entered a combination into a little pad, throwing away some walls and leaving a little elevator visible. They stepped inside, the camouflage moving back as their transport sank down, into the deepest depths of the Wayne estate. Conversation slowly sprang back up as they waited in the dim, gray box.

"So, you adjusting to life here?" Barbara asked. Dick leaned against a wall, looking up at the not-so-hidden camera watching them on the ceiling.

"It's… weird." He admitted. "I remember, every Christmas my parents would scrounge up enough money to buy me a couple books, some new clothes, maybe a video game or two. Sometimes, I'd even skip a Christmas and get something bigger the next year. And now…"

He shrugged, kind of numb to the experience in a way. "Now I own more games than I know what to do with, and there's a library—a literal library—right inside the house I live in. And my closet's larger than the bedroom I had in my trailer."

He pursed his lips as he tried to find the right words to describe it all. "I guess I'm a little shell-shocked by it all? Going from dirt-poor to stupid rich is just, sorta…"

"Overwhelming?" Barbara asked. He shook his head in a swift, jerking way.

"Nah, that's too big. Too much. Not overwhelming. Maybe just… whelming? Is whelm a word? It should be."

Barbara felt a strange urge to laugh as she watched the boy's train of thought go off the rails. A little ding informed the trio that the elevator had stopped. As the door slid open, Bruce loudly announced "Floor 3-B, the Batcave! Batarangs, Batsuits, Batmobiles, and Lingerie!"

"Didn't I tell you to cut the humor?" Barbara asked in response to the poor excuse for a joke.

"Yes, you did."

"So… you're still doing it."

"Well," Bruce began as he led them out of the elevator. "I was going to listen to you, but then I remembered I'm rich and can do whatever I want."

The stare Barbara was staring Bruce's way could have dropped a lion dead where it stood.

"Bruce," Dick said in a complaining tone. He had stepped out and was looking at the side of the Cave they had entered. They were above the metal platforms, on a flat rocky outcropping complete with a second computer and a carved staircase leading up to yet ANOTHER entrance to the hideaway. "In the week I have been here, I have come down here multiple times a day. And _every time_ I have done this, I have used a different entrance. Is making secret passageways how you get your kicks?"

Bruce shook his head, smiling as he admired the architecture of the place. "Nope. I didn't even make half of these, believe it or not. Most were already in place when I inherited the Manor. My mom used to tell me, 'There are enough hidden routes in the Manor to take you directly to any room, no matter what room you're in'."

He casually snatched a Batarang off the table attached to the computer, tossing it over his shoulder and striking a stalactite on the far side of the room. It bent like it was made of cardboard, and rock slid away to reveal a little tunnel. Barbara and Dick's jaws dropped in disbelief.

"In fact," the heir mentioned. "all the passages coming down here is what inspired me to use the Cave as my base of operations."

Dick sprinted over to the opened tunnel and crouched down to look inside. His expression was hard to make out at a distance, but it likely was somewhere between incredulous and dumbfounded. He shouted back, "Has it ever occurred to you that your ancestors were paranoid psychopaths?"

Bruce laughed, scratching the back of his head. "I guess!"

"He has a point, though." Said Barbara. "What the hell were your ancestors so afraid of, that they turned this place into a total maze?"

Bruce shrugged, and grabbed her by the shoulder, leading her out to the center of the clearing in the Cave. "Well, we could spend today pondering that, or we could get to training. Since Alfred's likely got his hands full with your brother, that leaves _me _in charge of that."

Bruce wave Dick over, who was already walking back. He and Barbara stood opposite from their instructor, who threw off his shirt. He was coated in no less than a dozen scars, some fresh. The significant wound just above his shoulder was still healing, and was covered in a heavy patch of gauze. That said, his musculature was nothing short of astounding. The kind of thing you'd expect from a bodybuilder, not a sixteen-year old boy.

Dick raised his hand and meekly asked, "Do we have to take our shirts off? Because I can't compare with that."

He looked Barbara's way, and his hand moved about an inch. "Maybe you could—"

A dark cloud bloomed in Barbara's eyes. "If you so much as try and take my shirt off, I will beat you to death with your own fists."

Dick threw his hands up to either side of his blanched white face in surrender, his expression profoundly terrified. The redhead smirked.

"Hey!" Bruce called. "You ladies gonna keep gossiping, or are you planning on paying attention?"

Bruce began to pace back and forth, lecturing them on today's lesson. "Barbara, you've been handling yourself well on your solo patrols. But Alfred and I agree you're too reliant on your shock gloves. And Dick, you'll need more than luck and agility when you start meeting big-time gangsters. So today, we'll begin developing your CQC skills."

Dick looked around. "But I don't see any equipment…" his eyes shrank to miniscule dots. "Oh god."

Bruce put his fists up. "We'll begin with light sparring to determine your abilities."

Barbara looked up at the staircase behind Bruce. There was the door. Heck, there were doors everywhere. She could just find one, and run. But she was kidding herself. This was happening, and nothing could stop the oncoming pain. A tap on her shoulder got Barbara's attention.

"Barb?" Dick asked. "If I don't make it… don't touch my stuff."

"Shut up and fight."

A battle cry rang from their lungs as the pair charged in unison, throwing blows at Bruce Wayne.


	3. Chapter 3

"KIYAA!"

Dick leaped though the air, kicking out his leg. His howling was cut off as Bruce stepped to his left and out of the way of the kick. One of the larger boy's arms grabbed Dick by his ankle, the other hand cupping around his back. In a single motion, Dick was upside-down with his face smooshed against the stone floor of the Batcave. Bruce was pressing down on him, holding one leg up in the air and pressing a foot down on his skull.

"Oh, god." Dick groaned. "Which way is the sky?"

Bruce chastised him. "You're too showy. The power and speed behind a kick is worthless if your opponent knows it's coming. Speaking of which…"

Wayne turned did a complete 180 and made a high block on Barbara's downward chop. He only caught a glimpse of the girl's face turning ghostly white in fear before he lashed out with a punch. To her credit, she managed to catch it between her fore and upper arm, and twist his fist away. It suddenly occurred to her that she was out of arms to fight with. On reflex, she shot out with her head and bashed it against Bruce's.

Both combatants reeled away from one another, releasing their grips. Barbara stumbled back and put a hand on the impact spot, nursing the tender flesh. The lights in her eyes were only starting to go away when she saw the silhouette in front of her drop down. A sweeping kick knocked her legs out from beneath her, and she slapped against the floor like a fish, ready for market. She had a whole face to nurse now, and rolled over onto her back. Bruce stood above, arms crossed. He put up one finger to punctuate a point, then a second as he got to it.

"One. Don't ever chop. _Ever_. Two. Don't hurt yourself with something like a headbutt unless you're absolutely certain you can recover before your opponent."

He extended a hand to her, which she took, and he pulled her up. While not malicious, his face was completely devoid of emotion. Business mode.

"Now get ready, and we'll go again." He told her.

His ears pricked, and his eyes focused like he heard something. He threw up an arm, and Barbara pulled back in surprise as it barely managed to deflect a high kick from Dick. Grayson immediately hopped back and away from Bruce and the backhand he threw in response. Now at a safe distance, the smaller boy grinned as Bruce turned to face him.

Cracking his knuckles, he said "The bad guys won't be using a 10-round system, dude. Why should we?"

Bruce finally afforded himself a smile. It was terrifying. "Your funeral."

The pair charged, Dick moving noticeably faster. Bruce threw a straight charging punch, which Grayson was fortunate enough to dodge under. He threw two jabs and caught Bruce in his abdomen, only to get an elbow strike coming down on him. He managed to wave away and take it to the shoulder instead of the top of his skull, but that hurt in its own way. Rather than away, Dick moved to the side and strafed Bruce until he was almost entirely behind him. He had superior speed, and managed to get a single blow just beneath the ribs before Bruce was on the move again. The second strike was caught in Bruce's and as he spun to the right, and gripped it so Dick's arm went alongside this rotation and yanked the boy closer.

Bruce struck with his free hand, and though Dick leaned as far back as he could it wasn't far enough. Grayson tumbled back to the floor, a new shiner on his cheek.

Bruce caught his breath and got ready for another lecture. Dick was having none of it, and wobbled back to his feet. Bruce arched an eyebrow as he settled back in a fighting posture.

"You're shaky. You sure you don't want to take a second and rest?"

"Absolutely."

Dick lunged, scooting his feet along the ground just enough to get close and swing with a hook. Bruce leaned back and avoided the blow, but Dick avoided over-shooting the trajectory of his swing. He still had plenty of momentum to lean forward and deliver a second punch. That didn't work either; Bruce flipped back onto his hands and kicked his opponent's fist away, the limp hand flopping back and out of the way.

Before Grayson could even think about what had just happened, Bruce was back on his feet and smashing a forearm against his cheek. Dick bounced in the opposite direction from the blow, stumbling as his world spun. The moment he regained focus, he looked Barbara's way with a hint of confusion, and frustration.

"You gonna back me up, or what?!"

Barbara snapped back to reality, realizing that she'd been watching the two trade blows in a stupor. Dick had stopped staring at her, all his attention re-focused on his sparring partner. That didn't do much for his odds, though. Barbara scanned the room, looking for an edge; she and Dick were completely outmatched in a brawl, but maybe if she found something to even the odds…

There! She looked to the computer, where Bruce had retrieved a Batarang for his earlier demonstration. There were still a few there. While Dick took the brunt of Bruce's attack, she snapped up one of the oddly-shaped shuriken. She held it above her shoulder, waiting for the perfect moment. Dick was in her way, snapping his body around to avoid Bruce's blows, which were rapidly increasing in speed and precision. She noted how weird that was.

_It's like he gets better the longer he fights._

Then, in a stroke of pure luck, she got her shot. Dick swept himself around Bruce's right, leaving him wide open. As Wayne turned to face his foe, Barbara threw the Batarang at his exposed back.

The projectile dropped like it was a boulder, and by the time it reached him it did nothing more but clack against the heel of his shoe.

Bruce looked back, confused at what had hit him, and in that lapse of concentration Dick sprung. A spinning backheel smashed Bruce in the back of his head, and flopped him to the floor. Dick threw his fists up in a victorious pose, while Wayne quickly rolled back to his feet. The former stuck out his tongue and quipped, "Doesn't feel so good, does it?"

"I wouldn't know." Bruce replied with a smirk. "Unlike you, I know how to roll with a blow. It didn't feel like much of anything, tell the truth."

Dick's scowl was astoundingly hostile. He called Barbara's way again, saying "Quit the comedy routine! Actually _back me up _this time!"

The redhead's face turned a matching crimson shade as she nodded frantically, eager to move past that embarrassing little moment. No more ranged combat for her. She and Dick moved in, striking simultaneously.

Bruce was more like a phantom than a human being, phasing out of the way and allowing Dick's balled-up fist to smack Barbara right in the stomach. The muscles in her abdomen knotted up and cramped themselves in response, and more on reflex than thought she lashed out her fist to the right. By chance, it caught Bruce in his eye, and with considerable force too. He squinted and struck back, two uppercuts catching both her and Dick. The two of them stumbled back, and struck in unison one more time.

Bruce stuck his chest out and let both punches hit him; Gordon could see one of his eyes twitch in pain, but a moment later she understood why he'd opted to take the hit. One hand each grabbed the wrists of his friends, twisting them and forcing their bodies to follow until their backs were turned to each other.

In a single motion, he grabbed their heads and slammed them together. The both of them collapsed to the floor, sprawled over one another in a dizzy, slurring mess of pain. The last time Barbara had felt like this, she had taken a grenade to the face.

Bruce sat down next to them, leaning back and taking more than a few deep breaths. As her vision _slowly _returned and focused, she began to notice how profusely he was sweating. How profusely the boy on top of her was sweating, too.

"Oh, come on! Get off!" she groaned, shoving Dick off of her. He rolled away, groaning and disoriented. He grimaced as he looked up, trying to shake off the dizziness still buzzing his skull.

"That was the worst kind of pain."

"It's good experience." Bruce told him. "You'll need to build up a tolerance for this kind of pain; criminals won't pull their punches like me."

Barbara heard a dull thud as Dick punched the floor. "You were pulling your punches?!" he yelled in disbelief. Bruce smiled at him, rising to his feet.

"You're good, both of you, but you're not nearly close to the level you need to be."

He extended his hands and helped both of them up.

"But, that's why we're training. To make you better. Speaking of which, follow me."

The pair of recruits followed Bruce as he led them down a stone staircase, towards the metal platforms they were more familiar with. He was already lecturing them on their flaws.

"Dick, you're quick, but you don't have much force behind your blows. Your reach is very sub-par, as well. And Barbara, you have zero technique behind your CQC. And as for range, well…"

"You have the throwing arm of an infant." Dick finished for him. Barbara was about to protest his choice of words, until Bruce nodded.

"Exactly. But if you're going to be out in the field, you'll need some kind of capability for combat at a distance. So, with all of that in mind…"

They were on the platforms now, in front of a steel door. Bruce entered a code onto a keypad, and the door swung on its squeaky hinges. A circular elevator was inside, surrounded by sleek metal walls of the same shape. They all stepped in, and watched as a hole appeared far above them in the ceiling. The circular piece of floor—which Barbara noted was quite luxuriously carpeted—rose up through said hole.

They found themselves back in the Manor. This room was particularly large, and while there were some erratic corners, outcroppings, and alcoves the room was primarily square in shape. The walls were coated in drawers, safes, display cases and mounting racks, on which just about every weapon imaginable could be found. Kukris, sabers, flails, axes, tasers, hammers, staves, even a few English longbows were hanging near the fireplace, taunting its crackling embers with their perfectly flammable bodies. The only thing it seemed to miss was firearms. Bruce smiled, and gestured all around him.

"Welcome to the Armory."

Barbara's jaw dropped. "This _can't_ be legal."

Dick was in a similar state of awe, looking in every direction and taking it all in. That didn't stop him from getting a quip in. "You're preaching law to the guy who dresses up like a bat and beats the tar out of people at night?"

"Point taken."

Bruce seemed to ignore them, and was beginning to circle the room and scope out some equipment to recommend. He was already expositing. "If it's not something I specifically invented for Batman, I keep it up here. Consider it the 'public' half of my armory. Both of you, start looking around. Dick, you're going to need a weapon to fight with. Something with a long reach, to make up for your deficiency. And Barbara, I need you to pick something with range. Both of you should keep in mind that you'll be carrying these around all night, so consider the weight when—"

"Done."

Bruce looked over to Dick, who had just made the announcement. He was beaming with pride as he stood next to a ludicrously large sword. Stood on its tip, it would be taller than he was. The pleading on his face hardly required words.

"Come on, dude, you've _gotta _let me use this thing."

Bruce snorted, and allowed himself an amused smile. He opened up a drawer underneath a mounted elk head, and started picking through the neatly arranged contents. He called back to Grayson, "That's a German bidenhänder, and also _way_ out of your league. For one thing, there's no way you could use that non-lethally."

He turned around, clutching something in his hand. He tossed it over, saying "Try this."

Dick caught it and examined the weapon. If it could be called such. It didn't weigh more than four pounds, and was about the size of a dumbbell. It was made of metal, pretty clearly, though it was colored a darker gray than he'd have expected. Dick scratched his head. "Uh… what the hell am I supposed to do with this?"

"Twist the grooved parts in opposite directions." Said Bruce, miming the motion to demonstrate. Dick did as he was told, and gasped in surprise as the little hunk of metal extended into a four-and-a-half foot staff.

The majority of it was grooved, and seemed to be built to grip easily. But in the center, and capped on either end, the metal was flanged in an odd manner. He noted that, where his hands naturally rested on the staff, there was something like a switch that he could feel. He flipped it, and watched as either end of the staff crackled with electricity. A childlike grin began to grow on his face.

"This is the coolest thing."

"I thought you'd like it." Bruce agreed. But his words fell on deaf ears. Dick was already wildly swinging the staff around, beating down imaginary foes as he struggled to twist the weapon around him as smoothly as possible. Bruce just shook his head as he watched.

_Well, at least he's enthusiastic…_

"Hey, Bruce?"

"Yeah?" he asked Barbara, walking over to her. She was standing on the opposite side of the armory, in front of a glass display case. Bulletproof glass, to be precise, and the case itself had no less than three visible locks on it. She was guessing—correctly—that there were more. The wall behind it was drawn with tyrian purple curtains, with gold detailing and tassels. Between these curtains rested a silver picture frame, within which was what had to be the most vivid landscape Barbara had ever seen. It showed gentle, white waves crashing against a pale beach on which the viewer seemed to stand, beneath gray skies, and brilliant marble cliffs behind it scaling up. Only a single dirt path that gradually changed to cobblestone led up the cliff, and beyond into a verdant green landscape.

Within the case itself, and on a pillow of similar coloring to the curtains rested two bracers. They seemed to be silver, and yet held a luster that went beyond any metal. Barbara pointed at the bracelets.

"What are these doing in the Armory?"

"Oh, these?" Bruce said, somewhat mindlessly. His face was already softened with warm memories. "A friend of my father's gave them to me as a gift while I was abroad. He claimed to have found them on an archaeological expedition. Have you ever heard of a place called Themy—"

He stopped himself mid-sentence, and snapped his fingers. "Actually, these just reminded me. I know exactly what you need."

He marched back to a corner, leaving Barbara feeling a bit miffed. She had wanted to hear the story. Wayne pulled open another drawer and retrieved a pair of gray vambraces, with unusually bulbous top portions, and a thin wire leading to two buttons. He brought them over to her, and instructed her to hold out her hand. He clasped one of them onto her left arm.

"All right, now watch this."

Bruce reached over to her arm, and pressed a trigger on the underside of the vambrace. The topside of it seemed to split apart, and dozens of little mechanical parts jittered out and assembled themselves in a busy mess of activity. Before she knew it, they had settled, and a miniature crossbow was on top of her wrist, a bolt at the ready.

"Whoa."

"All right," Bruce instructed, pointing at the opposite side. "See that picture?"

She nodded. It was some portly old man from the 1700s by his dress.

"Use your middle and ring fingers to squeeze the buttons and fire. I want you to aim for his head."

Barbara nodded again, absorbing the words that Bruce was whispering to her. "Take your time. Slow, even breaths. Fire on the exhale."

There was a pair of miniature sights on vambrace, hopefully synched-up with the crossbow, which she made good use of. She took three steady breaths, waiting until her arms got used to the weight and stopped shaking. She lined up the shot, aiming just above his head to account for gravity. She breathed in. _Fire on the exhale_…

_RAP RAP RAP_

"Master Bruce, I—YAAH!"

Alfred knocked on the door three times, quickly stepping through the door to deliver some kind of message. Said message was replaced with a yelp of shock as Barbara's heart leaped in surprise. She hadn't expected all that noise, and in the process of flinching shot the bolt in Alfred's direction.

The butler swatted with a metal tray he had been holding, deflecting the projectile away… and right between the eyes of Barbara's target.

An uncomfortable silence hung in the air as everyone's brains tried to catch up on what had just happened.

"…I meant to do that." Barbara squeaked.

Alfred clutched his chest, taking a deep breath as his twitching eyes examined the carpet beneath his feet. "Well, thank goodness I was coming _back_ from delivering snacks, or else I'd be scrubbing tea out of this carpet for months."

Alfred looked up, and quickly noted where the bolt had come from. He gave a cursory glance in Dick's direction as well, and after clearing his throat said "I see that the training has already taken some interesting turns."

"Heh. You could say that." Bruce agreed. "Is there something you needed, Alfred?"

"Actually, it was about you." The butler informed him. "Mr. Fox called, and asked me to let you know that he'd like you down at the gathering hall as soon as possible. He wants your input on a few things to be discussed privately, and also suggests you be there before your guests, for once."

All the light in Bruce's eyes was snuffed out like a candle flame. Palpable hatred for any and all social obligations seemed to exude from him as his shoulders drooped.

"…Yeah, yeah, tell him I'll be there in fifteen minutes. I'll take a cab, I guess. Is my suit still—"

"Hanging by the door, yes."

"All right, thanks, Alfred."

He got to the door, and turned back towards his friends. "Wish me luck, guys. Alfred will handle your training while I'm gone."

"Good luck." The others said, watching him step out of sight. Alfred quietly shut the door behind him, and approached the teenagers with a friendly smile.

"Miss Barbara, your brother is currently in the living room making use of our television, and has been provided enough food to last 'til supper. So, unless either of you require a break, I believe we can get right to it."

Dick raised his hand slightly, with a look of slight disbelief on his face. "Uh, Alfred, I don't mean any offense, but what did Bruce mean when he said you'd take over training? Again, no offense, but aren't you a _butler_?"

Only Barbara saw the glint in Alfred's eye, and the mischievousness in his grin as he casually walked to the side of a room, removing a rapier from the wall. He held it in both hands, silently observing its fine quality as he approached them again.

"Master Dick, butlers are like a sword. At first, they may seem to only have a single, solitary purpose. But look closer, and you will find they're quite versatile, with many responsibilities. As I'm sure you've noticed, I am the only butler of Wayne Manor. As such, I have _many _responsibilities. I clean, I cook, I provide transport, I take out the trash…"

In a lightning-quick blur, Alfred snatched the sword into his right hand, holding it as a weapon should be held. He jabbed forward with the tip, and spun it in a blur so fast that it seemed to phase out of existence for a moment. Dick grunted in surprise as a flurry of blows snipped at his hand, and flipped the staff away. It pirouetted in the air, and landed precisely in Pennyworth's outstretched palm. He set the rapier aside, and with a deft motion shortened the staff to its traveling size. He handed it back to Dick with a smile that seemed as if he hadn't even noticed the schooling he'd just given the boy.

"…and I also ensure the safety of my charge, _no matter the circumstance._"

After Dick had taken back his staff, Alfred returned to the center of the room, motioning for the other two to follow. They did so, and once they were gathered up Alfred spoke a 27-digit code. When he finished the last syllable of the last number, the concealed elevator descended, bringing them back down towards the cave.

Barbara and Dick were deathly silent, making a silent agreement that annoying Alfred was not in the interest of their continued good health.


End file.
